Fic + Art: Without Grace 1/2
Title: Without Grace 1/2
Artist: platina Author: butterflythread
Team: ROMANCE <3
Prompt: Fall, Innocence, Sex
Word count: 1043
Rating: Fic- PG Art- SFW (this part only)
Summary: Eames is a thief and a conman who gets himself into trouble with a dragon. Arthur is the knight with a vow of chastity who rescues him.
Light is starting to bleed into the sky when the first vicious shriek splits the air, and for the first time since the villagers staked him out on the hillside well before dawn, Eames's blood runs cold.
"Shit," he mutters, working his raw wrists even harder against the coarse rope. The peg holding him in place yielded easily to the rain-damp earth with one twist of his shoulders, but the bailiff's knots aren't so easily undone.
If he's been in worse situations before, it's impossible to remember with the sounds of the dragon stirring in the cave up above.
He sucks in a deep breath as rocks bounce down the incline, flexing his bare shoulders before straining at the bonds again. He's heard stories, of course; hell, he's told plenty of his own about the monstrous lizards with appetite enough to devour whole villages and flaming breath to raze them to the ground afterwards.
Meeting one up close and personal was never meant to be on the agenda.
Sweat slides down his back as the sun ekes its way higher, dappled light breaking through the low clouds. Another roar echoes through the air, rougher this time, and Eames struggles hard as he can, gritting his teeth at the pain. He can feel the bones of his wrists grinding under the pressure that's already torn skin, and he wonders for a second if he could manage snapping his own wrists to get free.
He slumps down. There'd still be his ankles to untie, an even more impossible task with broken bones. Besides, there'd be no guarantee they'd ever heal properly. Never being able to hold a quill again...
Eames would rather face the dragon.
Its cry rings out again, alongside the scrape of stone. Without the peg pinning him in place Eames could turn to look if he wanted, face the visage death would take, but he's not ashamed to admit there's not enough courage in him for that.
The ground in front of him goes dark with a distinctive bat-winged silhouette, and Eames squeezes his eyes shut and does the only thing there is left to do.
He hopes it's over fast.
He opens his eyes again when the sound of hoofbeats undercut the sound of the dragon's wings, hope flaring in his chest.
Perhaps the dragon will eat some other poor fool, instead. Luck might still be with him after all.
All the stories in the world can't compare to the beast landing just before him though, all black and crimson scale, like it was forged in the very pits of hell. Eames tries to scramble back, ignoring the protest in his wrists.
"Duck!"
Eames has never been prone to following orders, but he rolls when he hears the word almost drowned out under the approaching hoofbeats.
There's a flash of silver at the corner of his eye and a rush of wind as the horse leaps over him, hooves sending clumps of sodden earth flying when it skids to a halt before the dragon.
The dragon roars, wings flaring, but the horse darts to the side before the strike comes. Its jaws snap on nothing but air, tail whipping around as it turns.
Crawling with wrists and ankles bound isn't easy, but Eames hasn't survived thus far by always taking the easy way out.
Roars and whinnies ring out, and Eames has barely gotten the distance of five steps before one almighty roar rips through the morning air, dying away to a gurgling whimper as something crashes to the ground.
"You know," a man says, and Eames struggles to sit up again. "I'm fairly certain that traditionally, our positions here are meant to be reversed."
"What, you're saying you're a..." the words die on his tongue as his eyes catch on the spreading blood beneath the still body of the dragon before drifting up to a distinct blue and gold saddle blanket, the silver armour blazoned with the symbol that says virgin far more clearly than actually speaking it ever could. "Knight," Eames finishes lamely.
The knight stares down at him, lips pressed together. "Of sorts. And you are?"
"In need of a little help, if you could?"
"I already have," he says, but swings himself off the horse anyway. Blood still drips down the length of his sword, and Eames has to force himself not to shy away as he cuts through the ropes.
Circulation creeps back slowly. "Thank you."
"You'll need those wrists tended to," the knight says, digging in his saddlebag. He tosses a soft wool shirt at Eames. "There's a village just down the hillside, to the east. It'll only take you an hour or so to walk."
Eames doesn't mean to laugh, but it bursts out anyway. "They're the ones that put me here. I don't particularly want to go back."
"Did you kill anyone?"
"No, of course not," Eames says, and it's the truth. He's a thief and a liar and isn't above playing unfair, but even he has his limits.
The knight rubs at his cheek, smearing the blood there carelessly. He seems far too young and vital to have sworn away his life and all the worldly pleasure it could give, but the lily on his chest is as much a warning as it is a symbol of affiliation.
"I'm headed to the city," the knight says, almost reluctantly. "I suppose you can come with me, at least part of the way."
"I'd be grateful," Eames says, watching as he wipes blood from his face and breastplate with a rag from the saddlebag, before turning his attention to his sword.
"I'm Arthur," he says at last. The clean blade hisses as he slides it back into its sheath,long fingers curling protectively around the hilt.
Untouchable, Eames reminds himself, before the graceful curve of those slim fingers can give him any ideas. "Eames."
*
Artist: platina Author: butterflythread
Team: ROMANCE <3
Prompt: Fall, Innocence, Sex
Word count: 1043
Rating: Fic- PG Art- SFW (this part only)
Summary: Eames is a thief and a conman who gets himself into trouble with a dragon. Arthur is the knight with a vow of chastity who rescues him.
Light is starting to bleed into the sky when the first vicious shriek splits the air, and for the first time since the villagers staked him out on the hillside well before dawn, Eames's blood runs cold.
"Shit," he mutters, working his raw wrists even harder against the coarse rope. The peg holding him in place yielded easily to the rain-damp earth with one twist of his shoulders, but the bailiff's knots aren't so easily undone.
If he's been in worse situations before, it's impossible to remember with the sounds of the dragon stirring in the cave up above.
He sucks in a deep breath as rocks bounce down the incline, flexing his bare shoulders before straining at the bonds again. He's heard stories, of course; hell, he's told plenty of his own about the monstrous lizards with appetite enough to devour whole villages and flaming breath to raze them to the ground afterwards.
Meeting one up close and personal was never meant to be on the agenda.
Sweat slides down his back as the sun ekes its way higher, dappled light breaking through the low clouds. Another roar echoes through the air, rougher this time, and Eames struggles hard as he can, gritting his teeth at the pain. He can feel the bones of his wrists grinding under the pressure that's already torn skin, and he wonders for a second if he could manage snapping his own wrists to get free.
He slumps down. There'd still be his ankles to untie, an even more impossible task with broken bones. Besides, there'd be no guarantee they'd ever heal properly. Never being able to hold a quill again...
Eames would rather face the dragon.
Its cry rings out again, alongside the scrape of stone. Without the peg pinning him in place Eames could turn to look if he wanted, face the visage death would take, but he's not ashamed to admit there's not enough courage in him for that.
The ground in front of him goes dark with a distinctive bat-winged silhouette, and Eames squeezes his eyes shut and does the only thing there is left to do.
He hopes it's over fast.
He opens his eyes again when the sound of hoofbeats undercut the sound of the dragon's wings, hope flaring in his chest.
Perhaps the dragon will eat some other poor fool, instead. Luck might still be with him after all.
All the stories in the world can't compare to the beast landing just before him though, all black and crimson scale, like it was forged in the very pits of hell. Eames tries to scramble back, ignoring the protest in his wrists.
"Duck!"
Eames has never been prone to following orders, but he rolls when he hears the word almost drowned out under the approaching hoofbeats.
There's a flash of silver at the corner of his eye and a rush of wind as the horse leaps over him, hooves sending clumps of sodden earth flying when it skids to a halt before the dragon.
The dragon roars, wings flaring, but the horse darts to the side before the strike comes. Its jaws snap on nothing but air, tail whipping around as it turns.
Crawling with wrists and ankles bound isn't easy, but Eames hasn't survived thus far by always taking the easy way out.
Roars and whinnies ring out, and Eames has barely gotten the distance of five steps before one almighty roar rips through the morning air, dying away to a gurgling whimper as something crashes to the ground.
"You know," a man says, and Eames struggles to sit up again. "I'm fairly certain that traditionally, our positions here are meant to be reversed."
"What, you're saying you're a..." the words die on his tongue as his eyes catch on the spreading blood beneath the still body of the dragon before drifting up to a distinct blue and gold saddle blanket, the silver armour blazoned with the symbol that says virgin far more clearly than actually speaking it ever could. "Knight," Eames finishes lamely.
The knight stares down at him, lips pressed together. "Of sorts. And you are?"
"In need of a little help, if you could?"
"I already have," he says, but swings himself off the horse anyway. Blood still drips down the length of his sword, and Eames has to force himself not to shy away as he cuts through the ropes.
Circulation creeps back slowly. "Thank you."
"You'll need those wrists tended to," the knight says, digging in his saddlebag. He tosses a soft wool shirt at Eames. "There's a village just down the hillside, to the east. It'll only take you an hour or so to walk."
Eames doesn't mean to laugh, but it bursts out anyway. "They're the ones that put me here. I don't particularly want to go back."
"Did you kill anyone?"
"No, of course not," Eames says, and it's the truth. He's a thief and a liar and isn't above playing unfair, but even he has his limits.
The knight rubs at his cheek, smearing the blood there carelessly. He seems far too young and vital to have sworn away his life and all the worldly pleasure it could give, but the lily on his chest is as much a warning as it is a symbol of affiliation.
"I'm headed to the city," the knight says, almost reluctantly. "I suppose you can come with me, at least part of the way."
"I'd be grateful," Eames says, watching as he wipes blood from his face and breastplate with a rag from the saddlebag, before turning his attention to his sword.
"I'm Arthur," he says at last. The clean blade hisses as he slides it back into its sheath,long fingers curling protectively around the hilt.
Untouchable, Eames reminds himself, before the graceful curve of those slim fingers can give him any ideas. "Eames."
*